


The Oncoming Storm

by orphan_account



Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Stargate Universe
Genre: Atlantis Belongs In Pegasus, M/M, Multi, Universe Got Robbed, sort of a fix it fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 20:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11928999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: SGA-1 has a talk; they know what's what.  Destiny wakes up to a new galaxy, only to find a most unwelcome enemy that is far more worrisome than the Nakai or the drones.  SG-1 tries their best to assist.Eventually, all rivers feed into the same ocean.





	The Oncoming Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let's All Discover](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7362475) by [Elise_Davidson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson). 



> Takes place three years after Universe, five years after Atlantis. It shifts around quite a bit. This has been a thought in my head ever since I did a prompt for SG:A “fan the flames”; check it out if you wish. A link is provided; if it doesn't take you to the direct prompt, it's 13. Fan The Flames. I always wanted to expound on it a bit, and then I caught the Universe!bug. This fic was pretty much borne from my appreciation of all of them, and the desire to see a decent ending. I always hated that Atlantis was bound to Earth; Pegasus needed her more. I always hated that Universe had that ambiguous ending! And, I'm not ashamed to admit, I didn't see the two series-wrapping movies they did for Stargate: SG-1. I do a lot of research so I can at least ensure that I know where people are supposed to be.
> 
> All that being said, I do feel the need to say that this first chapter takes off in a lot of different directions. They will all be resolved and taken care of; I promise.
> 
> Beta'd by LegacySoulReaver; any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> Final note: Title taken from Doctor Who, courtesy of Russell T. Davies.

_Atlantis_

The earthen sun shone brilliantly into the blue-green conference room.  It threw a golden cast over the grayish marble of the overbearing table.  As always, the Ancients were practical in their décor and architecture, opting to use large, simple slabs for meetings (probably with the intention of accommodating large groups of people, as opposed to small, intimate meetings).  The blue-greens were, no doubt, to remind them of the watery planet they had left behind.  While the room was obviously meant to accommodate a large conference of sorts, it currently only housed four, and only one of them was actually talking.  Well, it wasn’t so much that he was the only one talking; it was that he was the only one who didn’t seem capable of allowing any other words over his own.

Rodney glared sourly around the room.  This little corner of the city had, at the time, been a disappointing find in the long drudgery of still being on Earth.  “Five _years_ ,” he finished off breathlessly, crossing his arms in a sullen fashion.  “It’s just… _five_ years.  I mean, I get that they want to muck around in here and suck Atlantis for all she’s worth in the way of what they can use against any of their enemies, or, I don’t know—maybe attempt to try and _locate_ Destiny—but really, how much more can they _get_?  It’s not like we’re anywhere close to even _remotely_ having a way to actually search her databanks.”

John kept it to himself that sometimes, when he sat in the chair because he was bored ( _missed Pegasus_ ), and he sweet-talked her just right, Atlantis would pretty much bring up whatever he asked for.  Like the fighter jet blueprints that he was saving for Lorne’s birthday, or the plans for a particularly complex robot that would translate _anything_ into _anything_ for Rodney, who had taken (somewhat annoyingly) to learning different languages to pass the time.

He couldn’t say he blamed him, any of them really.

After all, Rodney had a point.  They had been back for five years, and even John wasn’t sure of exactly why.  Woolsey had been notoriously tight-lipped, but it was different than his usual IOA-induced quiet.  This time, it seemed like the older man wasn’t saying anything because he wasn’t being told either, and if that was the case, John was relatively certain (within 89%?  No, 96%) that the IOA was doing everything possible (with potential help from some too-eager scientists at the SGC) to keep Atlantis tethered to Earth.  He would be lying if he said he hadn’t started getting antsy around two years prior.

Hell, Ronon had been antsy since pretty much the second week of arriving, and had taken to sparring sessions nearly seven days a week.  It had started at first as two sessions a day to help train new and existing recruits.  Even Teyla had joined in several days a week, opting instead to hold meditation sessions every night for those who wanted it.  John had put a stop to that when Ronon almost got his neck broken from a particularly huge recruit with a heavy bantos rod that was thicker than Ronon’s arm.

Even after that, Ronon had only agreed to limit the fighting sessions to four days a week, with an optional session on the two days off and one required day off that Ronon could go off base or stay in his room or, really, do whatever the hell he wanted so long as it didn’t involve fighting.

John knew it wasn’t enough—Ronon had always been intensely quiet, but absolutely certain of one thing.  He would not rest until the Wraith threat had been eradicated for good, by any means necessary.  And again, John couldn’t say he blamed the man much for it.

Even now, Ronon sat restlessly at the table with them, flipping a curved, extremely sharp blade in his hand.  The bones of the other were swollen from too much fighting and not enough trips to the infirmary.  John would have to do something about that.

“We do agree with you, Rodney,” Teyla said in that kind, understanding voice of hers that indicated she could tell Rodney was working himself into a frenzy.  “But there is not much we can do, is there?”

Rodney scoffed at her.  “So we just give up?  Ha!  I’ve never given up on anything in my _life_!  I figured out those cold-fusion experiments the Ancients did, I can figure out anything.”

John snorted quietly this time, ignoring the glare Rodney shot his way.  “What?” he asked delicately.  “It’s just last week though, I saw you throw a pair of bantos rods to the ground and declare that you had quit for the day.”

McKay sputtered.  “That’s…but…it’s not…” He stopped for a moment in his fuming before he continued.  “That’s different!  I bruise easily, and these hands—“ He shoved his hands out condescendingly.  “Are _vital_ to Atlantis, and you know it!”

Teyla uttered something that may have been a laugh, cough, and giggle all in one, but she disguised it well enough that it may have well been a throat clearing.  Rodney clearly didn’t appreciate that either.

But then, Teyla was restless too.  She had possibly been the most patient of all the natives from Pegasus, as she had chosen to believe in the people above her making the decisions.

John supposed he couldn’t blame her for that, but on the other hand, she wasn’t terribly familiar with the IOA.  Sure, she had already done her rounds with them as an alien from another galaxy, but, to no one’s surprise, had passed with flying colors.  If nothing else, she seemed…confused as to why they wouldn’t allow the sole defense of the Pegasus galaxy to return when Earth clearly had allies and defenses all their own.

He wished he had an answer.

Before he could think too much more on it, Rodney was practically wagging a finger in his face and ranting again.  John sighed and deliberately pushed the offending hand away with one finger.  “McKay, quit it,” he snapped.  “That’s why we’re here.  No one ever comes here; it’s just living quarters and conference rooms.”

Rodney still found something to grumble on about that as well.  “And three gyms, two recreational rooms, and a hydroponics bay that I’m almost certain Dr. Brown and her flower-power-hippies haven’t left since they found it a year ago.”

“You’re just mad because it didn’t have any new toys for you,” Ronon muttered, but there was a thread of steel in his voice.  The thread snapped as he stabbed the table viciously.  “But he’s got a point.  I just have to stay here; we all do?”

Teyla looked slightly alarmed at the thought.  “This isn’t our _home_ , John.  Surely they can not keep us here if we do not wish to remain.”

John looked at them pointedly.  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s not _you_ they’re trying to keep here as long as possible.  As far as they’re concerned, they don’t know why you guys have stayed this long.”

Ronon glared at him.  “You know why.”

Teyla agreed with a nod of her head.  “And it would not make sense to return without the people who have brought hope back to Pegasus, nor the reason they have given it hope.”  She glanced around the room to indicate Atlantis and the people who had brought her back to life.

“Well, then you’re stuck in the same place we are, seeing as I’m the property of the US government and if Rodney doesn’t want to live his life out as an obscure physics nerd—“

“ _Hey_ —“

“Who hasn’t published any meaningful work in years, which means probably no work for him at all—“

“ _Sheppard_ ,” Rodney whined in rage.  “You know that’s just not—“

“Then the end of it is that if we’re going to go _home_ ,” John glared at Rodney, who promptly shut up, “Then we’re going to have to figure out a way to go back ourselves.”  His eyes darkened as his fist clenched both on the table and beneath it on his knee.  “Some of us won’t have that luxury, and frankly, he deserved better than that.”

The unspoken name hit the ground like a sack of bricks— _Todd_.

No one spoke about Todd anymore.  John had tried, in the first six months or so, but most of it had fallen on deaf or willfully ignorant ears.  He still couldn’t be sure (with any degree of accuracy, using a fluid percentage scale or no) what had really happened to Todd, and John had been in the military for far too long to keep up a line of questioning likely to end with him on report.  Still, it went unspoken that it bugged all of them to varying degrees (John, uncomfortably so, versus Ronon, who remained one of the understandably uncaring, even if there had been a mite of respect there).

All John recalled was that one day, Todd was in his locked living quarters (Woolsey had argued it was their fault Todd was here, and their responsibility as a result, thus it was cruel and inhumane to keep him in the brig for such an extended period of time), and the next day, Teyla had opted out of both sparring and meditation, something that was a bit of an oddity.  She had begged off with a headache and the need for a nap, but then three hours later, was in the infirmary and practically sobbing from the pain of an overwhelming migraine in between dry heaves of nausea.

She had ended up staying in the infirmary for nearly a week; half of it, she was sedated.

It had been early on during their stay on Earth, and Keller had been just as flustered as anyone else as to what could possibly have been the problem.  The Athosians who had remained on Atlantis had never seemed to show any sensitivities to Earthen foods, nor any diseases.  In any case, Keller had pointed out at the time, it was a very strange set of symptoms to be suffering from for any one particular ailment.

And that was to say nothing of the other three Athosians who had been in and out of the infirmary fairly quickly with similar symptoms.

After that, John hadn’t seen Todd, not even for the random days during the week the IOA had allowed him to be let out of his rooms to “help” with research (Todd did little more than point out errors and laugh at their attempts to correct them).

Naturally, John had taken it to Woolsey.  While he was sure that Teyla might know more, Teyla had been put on bed rest for the next two weeks.

Woolsey had been tight-lipped in a bad way that time, simply saying that Todd had been transferred elsewhere to be more useful.

That hadn’t sounded good.  His suspicions were later only slightly confirmed when Teyla went white at the mention of Todd’s name when she was back on her feet, and staunchly refused to speak of it.  Ronon had growled at him when John pressed further, and Rodney had pulled him away in a rare show of social courtesy to let John know, in no uncertain terms, _shut the fuck up_.

John sighed at the table now, wishing he could have done something— _anything_ —because he knew, in a rebellious sort of way, that he was right; Todd had deserved better.  “So how do we get back ourselves?  This place is crawling with SGC personnel, not to mention half of the people who were with us in Pegasus are on leave.  We can’t just strand people who don’t want to be here and leave people behind who would have wanted to come.”

Rodney drummed his fingers on the table.  “Well, I can do some…subtle inquiries.  The science teams are easy enough to figure out, after all.  For example, that dark-skinned fellow, Gomez?  Gruber?  Gruyere?” he rattled off vaguely.

“That’s a cheese, Rodney,” John replied warily.  “And I think you mean Garcia.”

“Yes, him,” Rodney agreed.  “He gives me the creeps, always wanting complete and full security access to anything he wants to get his non-coding hands on when it comes to Ancient tech.  He helped out a bit on the Destiny mission, still does from time to time, when Rush doesn’t kick him out.”

“Like it would surprise you for that ass to kick anyone out,” John muttered, but Rodney didn’t seem to have heard him.

“Well, and that’s another reason to keep us here, isn’t it?” Rodney pointed out.  “The wormhole drive?  Ever since they found the stones at Homeworld Security and repaired, they’re still trying to figure out a way to communicate with Destiny in general.  We haven’t heard from them in what; three years?  Maybe longer?  For all we know, they’re already dead.”

Ronon grunted in frustration.  “They can figure their own way home; what about _us_?”

John leveled a calming stare at him.  “Ronon, we’re doing the best we can.  We can’t just magically see who does and doesn’t want to go, hope we’re right, and then steal a damn _city_!”

“Then why am I even here?” Ronon yelled, and stormed angrily from the room.

“Ronon,” John started, but Teyla put a firm hand on his shoulder.

“I believe he needs some alone time.  I will go after him later.”  Her fingers tightened—it wasn’t as loud or as sharp as Ronon’s outburst, but it contained the same vein of frustrated agitation.  “We are uneasy, John; perhaps more so than you.  It has been too long, and we cannot afford to lose any more people.”  She left it at that, only scanning Rodney’s face before leaving.

Sure enough, Rodney’s face had gone only slightly ashen.  “That’s a low blow,” he murmured, cradling his forehead in his hand.  “That wasn’t our fault, and…well, it was _no one’s_ fault anyway.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” John tried, though he knew he was crap at comforting people.  “I know there’s nothing we could’ve done, but there’s also nothing you could’ve done.”

Rodney shook off his hand when it came to his shoulder.  “I have work to do.  If you figure something out, or I do, which statistically, I will, then we’ll talk more then.”

“And until that auspicious occasion?” John replied sarcastically, wishing the haunted look would leave Rodney’s face.

“We just have to make do and see to it that Ronon doesn’t kill someone.”

John kept it to himself, as he did with so many things about Rodney, that every time _home_ was mentioned, it meant Pegasus.  He chose not to examine too closely why.

XXXXX

_Destiny_

Even Rush had to admit it.  He didn’t particularly want to; it was obvious by the way he glared stubbornly at Young but begrudgingly took what was offered.  Young steadily ignored the slight throat-chuckle from Eli and the soft snort from Scott.  Chloe seemed to know better and kept her head to a console.

Rush stalked out of the bridge room, carelessly yelling over his shoulder that he would be back.

“Promises, promises,” Young muttered with the knowledge that Rush would have heard it but also wouldn’t dignify it with a response.

Eli swiveled from his console.  “Really?” he asked.  “He’s kind of proud.”

Young sighed.  “It’s a fucking hazard at this point.”

“It’s a _beard_ ,” Eli stressed.

“And I don’t care; he’s starting to look like a caveman,” Young responded, as if this explained everything.  “Any signs yet of drones or the Nakai?”

Volker turned this time.  “No; just empty space so far.  Destiny’s headed for a star to refuel, and that’s probably the best direction she could be headed.”

“How long?” Young asked.

Volker turned back to his screen, tapping his fingers over the glass.  “Twelve hours.”

“In that case, Scott, take the bridge until Rush comes back.  I’m going to take a walk,” Young responded, even though his knee gave a twinge at the very thought of walking around for too long.  However, they’d been out of stasis for a grand total of a week, and he had slept for—with a generous estimate—approximately three days of it (cumulatively).

Scott took the bridge chair.  “We’ll radio if we have to.”

Young was glad; Scott at least seemed to understand that “take a walk” meant “take a nap”.  He left the bridge, only to catch up with Rush sooner than he had thought.  “Was it really that much to ask you to just trim it?  It’s not like I’m asking you to be up to military regulations.”

Rush snorted softly, toting the small bag that held one of the few scissors still left on the ship.  “I don’t get why you felt the need to do so on the bridge.”

“Because, as I said on the bridge,” Young grumbled, “I’d already asked you privately four different times this week.  I don’t think I’m being unreasonable.  Are you trying to be unreasonable?  Because I can certainly change my attitude to suit yours if needed.”

“Oh, sod off, Colonel,” Rush muttered.  “I’m headed to trim it now; you want to bear witness?”

“Sir, we need you back at the bridge,” Scott’s voice crackled over the radio.  It at least sounded reluctant but faintly alarmed.

Young shrugged his shoulders.  “Interesting as it sounds, I’ll take a rain check.  Duty calls.”

Rush nodded tersely, as if realizing their conversation had taken on a more familiar tone than he would like.  He backed away, seemingly to distance himself again.

Young hated that.  In this instance, however, he examined it with the curiosity a child would a piece of mica pulled from the concrete.  It was something he could turn over in his hands and inspect closely in his head.  It was easy to hide those sorts of investigations from Rush, who seemed to see everything.

“I’ll be along shortly, Colonel,” Rush said shortly, before taking off down the hallway.  His gait was purposeful and efficient—no doubt how he would be trimming his overgrown beard as well.  In any case, Young (this time) deliberately ignored why he was watching in the first place and headed quickly for the bridge.  It wasn’t like Scott to sound anxious, and it meant that he had bigger things to focus on.

“Sit-rep,” Young ordered as he entered the bridge.

Scott rose from the seat, looking just a shade past pale.  “I don’t think they’ve seen us, sir.”

“They?” Young asked curiously.  “It’s not the Nakai or any drones, is it?”  He suspected Scott would have said so over the radio.

“No,” Chloe intervened.  “Definitely not.  But I’m pretty sure it’s something we know.”

Young sighed impatiently.  “Out with it; what is it?”

Chloe looked paler than Scott when she turned to look at him.  “Did you talk to Dr. McKay during that mission?”

Young rolled his eyes.  “I tried not to, if that’s what you’re asking.”  He straightened in his seat.  “And I’m only going to ask one more time.  What is it?”

Chloe moved anxiously in her seat, shifting her gaze to Scott, who, in turn, glanced at Eli.

“Aw, jeez, really?” Eli muttered.  “I don’t know what they’re doing out here, or how they even got here, but to be fair, we don’t know that much—“

“Spit it out,” Young snapped.

Eli swallowed nervously.  “It’s Wraith.”

XXXXX

_Atlantis_

 

John knocked idly on Rodney’s door, though he was certain he could get it open himself if he wanted.  He wasn’t disappointed though, and Rodney answered, looking slightly disheveled and more than a little manic.

Perfect.

“What?” Rodney snapped out.

John held up a bag.  In it was, hopefully, whatever Rodney might find passable so far as beer was concerned.  The clerk at the store had said it was Canadian, so John threw in his best “natives are crazy, let’s get the fuck out of here” stare along with the proffered bag.

“Beer on the pier?” he asked.

Rodney inspected the contents of the bag first (of _course_ ), and grimaced.  “Well, you tried; I’ll give you that.”

John groaned.  “Oh, come _on_ ; I know it’s Canadian!  I didn’t even put it in the damn fridge.”

Rodney waved him off, but didn’t shut the door as he retreated back to his room.  That was as much invitation as John was likely to get to enter.  There were dozens of tablets lying around, and two laptops on the bed, with a third running general diagnostics in the background.  Additionally, there was a final tablet set up on the nightstand with a language app open but paused.

“It’s _LaBatt_ ,” Rodney stressed, as if this were of the utmost importance.  “But it’s not always easy to find Molson, so I suppose I could enjoy what you’ve brought.”  He looked at the bag in consideration, though it was clear he needed a break.  “Room temperature, you say?”

“And all yours,” John replied, producing another bag from behind the entrance of the quarters.  “I brought my own.”

“Fine, fine, fine,” Rodney muttered, and snagged one of the numerous tablets.  “Beer on the pier, so long as I can bring this.”  He held up the device he had grabbed.

“Whatever,” John responded, knowing this was the best offer he might get at the moment.  He waited until they were actually sitting on the edge of the pier and into their third bottle before he inquired about it.  “So what’s so important that you had to bring that one?”

Rodney held up the handheld.  “This one?  This one is trying to decrypt something that Todd sent me before he…well.”  He didn’t finish the statement or qualify it.  It wasn’t like him to be so evasive, but John had the feeling it was important.

“What was it?” John asked absently, as if he didn’t care.  Rodney was at his most talkative if he thought someone didn’t recognize the brilliance of what he was attempting to accomplish.

Rodney, predictably, snorted and sighed in poorly veiled irritation.  “Nothing that concerns _you_ ,” he responded peevishly.  It made John’s teeth grind a bit, because he thought they had no secrets.  “Just some random transmission he got from…well, I’m not entirely sure what galaxy.  But it wasn’t Pegasus or Milky Way.”

John sat up a little straighter.  “Come again?”

With a very put-upon grunt, Rodney sat up a bit too as he grabbed another beer.  “Apparently, he weaseled his way into being able to accept but not reply to outdated Wraith transmissions.  I don’t think they would be able to trace it, in any case, as I’ve already told to anyone who matters.  They’ve got me going over all of his work, you know.”

John tried not to be hurt at the fact that in this case, he wasn’t important enough for Rodney to have told him.  “Yeah, Woolsey gave me a rundown.”  Hell, at this point, the SGC had John doing little more than standing in on SG teams that were down a man.  It was exhausting, in a sense, on more than one level, and he would like to think (sometimes, in the privacy of his quarters where it was just him) that Rodney knew that.

John righted himself a bit, because it wasn’t often that he drank, and four beers tended to make him feel a little light-headed.  He could already see he was getting a little maudlin, and that wasn’t something he was ready to expose.

Rodney barreled on in his usual way, though it was still somewhat secretive.  “Well, most of his stuff is pretty run of the mill.  Wraith factions are still fighting each other, they’ve got outposts in a handful of other galaxies in the local group—“

“And?” John interrupted impatiently.

Rodney tilted a deliberate stare at him.  “This one was heavily encrypted and _not_ from the local group.  I’m still trying to break the cipher.  Whatever it is, the IOA wants it ASAP.”

John leaned back a little, unconscious of the way his hand was splayed on the cool edge of the pier and sidled against Rodney’s pinky finger, but altogether too aware of the fact that he sought comfort in that touch.  “That can’t be good.”

Rodney’s hand tensed a little; it made John aware of the fact their hands were touching.  “I see things, sometimes, when I’m looking at it.  And I think the Wraith were after something far away.”

John wished his chest hadn’t clenched.  “And?”

A beer can was thrown into the winds of San Francisco, a bottle breaking against the surf.

Rodney’s mouth slanted unhappily.  “I think they know about Destiny.”

XXXXX

_Destiny_

 

“So they haven’t seen us?” Young asked tightly, his knuckles tightening automatically on the armrests of the chair.

“No,” Volker supplied.  “I don’t even think there’s any real life signs aboard, but it’s difficult to tell this far away.”

“They can hibernate,” Scott pointed out.

Volker turned.  “Honestly, I think it’s kind of their own version of Destiny.  They may or may not have seen Destiny leaving Pegasus, right?”

“Astute and obvious as always,” Rush grumbled as he entered the room with little indication of how long he had actually been listening.  His beard was trimmed short to his face now, looking more like stubble than a lengthy trail of hair.  “Are they in our pathway to the refueling star?”

“No,” Eli put in.  “They’re just…sitting there.  We can’t tell how far their sensors reach, so it’s hard to say if they even know we’re here.”

Rush looked at the screen for himself, as if needing to confirm what Eli had reported.  He looked at Young witheringly.  “I would suggest perhaps altering our course?  At our current path, we risk swinging just close enough.”

“But if they’re hibernating, it doesn’t matter,” Young responded, trying to figure out how Rush had gotten his deduction.  He really was tired of being two steps behind at times.

Rush rolled his eyes.  “Why take the risk?  We don’t know what sort of proximity alarms they have equipped.  I don’t know about you, Colonel, but I’ve read the reports from Atlantis, and I have very little desire to meet these creatures face to face, let alone in a battle we cannot win.”

Young sighed, because he still wasn’t even fully caught up to the repairs the ship needed.  It was difficult to plan ahead when there were already three acts in the play and two more to be written.  “Rush, take the bridge and alter course away from the Wraith ship.  Eli, you come with me; I’ll send James to take over.”

Eli got up, albeit reluctantly.  “What—“

“Come on,” Young interrupted.  “I need you to translate when I ask Brody about the repairs, alright?  Rush can handle it here.”  He sent Rush an expectant stare.  “Hopefully without getting us killed?”

Rush snorted again; it was a common response.  “I’m on this ship, Colonel, and since you think I’m obsessed with saving my own skin, know that I’ll keep her intact.”

Young nodded in understanding with an undercurrent of respect.  “See to it then.  Scott, you’ll radio?”

“Yes, sir,” came Scott’s automatic answer, but his eyes shifted in concern between Chloe and Eli; it made Young wonder what was going on there.  He didn’t have time to really think about it though, and left the bridge room.

It was nearly three hours later and in the middle of Brody’s never-ending list of repairs (thank God Eli knew half of what Brody was talking about) that Young got another radio call; this time, from Rush.

“Colonel,” Rush said sharply.  “They’re not hibernating, at least, not anymore.”

“What do you mean?” Young asked, holding up a hand to silence Eli and Brody, who were still conversing amongst themselves.

“They’re awake, and they’re changing course.”

“For?”

“The same star we’re headed for.”

It was the panic in Rush’s voice that made Young’s chest tighten.  If Rush were calling, then that meant they had already tried other options, such as re-routing or simply looking for another star.

If Rush were calling, that meant the man was _scared_.

And Young tried hard to not examine the dread that kicked at his chest as he picked up the pace and headed for the bridge.  Just as he had expected, Rush looked pale and more than a little panicky.

“They haven’t really done anything, and I’m still only getting the faintest of one life sign,” Chloe offered.  “No weapons charging, no shielding so far as I can tell.”

James touched at her screen a few times.  “I’m not as good at reading these things as Eli, but if I had to guess…” she trailed off with a frown before resuming.  “And it’s a really tentative guess, but I’d say they’re pretty damaged.”

Rush came over to look at it himself, waving James out of the chair with an irritated hand.  She obliged with a roll of her eyes.  “She’s partly right,” he confirmed, eyes scanning over the readings.  “I’d say that they are hurt, perhaps not heavily.  At the very least, I can tell you their drives are different than ours; can’t say if it’s for better or worse.  There doesn’t appear to be any docking ports.”

“So are they headed for us or not?” Young asked.  “Is it a threat?”

“Can’t tell,” Rush replied noncommittally.  “They haven’t increased their speed, and Chloe’s right about the shields and weapons.”  He glanced over at Chloe’s screen.  “And I’m not so sure that’s even a life sign.”

“I don’t think they’re on an intercept with us, sir,” Scott said before Young could get any more impatient, as if sensing that his commanding officer was reaching that point.  “And honestly, I think we’re getting just a little ahead of ourselves; I can see a lot of that same stuff too, and I could just as easily say they’re adrift.”

Young sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Who’s on duty with the stones right now?”

Eli came in, typing on one of the smaller handhelds they had found.  “I finished Brody’s list whenever you’re ready,” he informed Young.  “And Barnes is in there right now with Jamison.  But we still don’t know if they ever repaired the stones after the Lucian alliance attacked.”

“Well, we’re going to have to try and find out,” Young said firmly.  “We need to talk to someone on Atlantis.  Anyone, really.”

“Oh, you should see if Dr. McKay is available,” Eli replied (a little too eagerly, if Young remembered the good doctor right). 

“We’ll see if we can even make contact first; let them know we’re alive.  It’s been three years since we went into stasis, so if they tried the stones and no one was here, it’s only reasonable to assume they might have given us up as dead,” Rush pointed out cynically.  “We’ve only been awake for a week, after all.”  He grabbed the tablet from Eli’s hands quickly.  “Oh, this is just unnecessary bullsh—“

“We’ll just have to keep the faith on the stones,” Young interrupted hurriedly.

Rush scowled at him, but miraculously seemed to take the hint and handed the tablet back to Eli.  “You should still let me narrow that down,” he muttered.

Young nodded.  “Duly noted; we can talk about it in the meeting with Camille later.”  He turned back to the bridge crew.  “For now, stay the course we’re on.  If that ship comes any closer or shows any real signs of life—“ He looked pointedly at them.  “Ones we can _prove_ , then alert me immediately.  I’m going to the stones room to see if there’s been any signs of anyone trying to connect.  Rush, you’ll stay here?”

Rush nodded absently, already engrossed in the readings on the screen at the bridge chair Young had just vacated.  “Yes, yes; I’ve got it.”  He gestured with his radio in dismissal.

Young thought if he rolled his eyes one more time (especially if it was at something Rush did), they would fall out of his head.  Still, he clapped a trusting hand on Rush’s shoulder and felt somewhat surprised when Rush jumped under his fingers, looking at the offending appendage with suspicion.

“I’ll radio if I get anything; I’m going to fill Camille in on the way,” Young said, and hated that it came out a bit awkward for his taste.  He was really just trying to show Rush a sign of camaraderie, but he supposed that as much as the man isolated himself from everyone, it wouldn’t be unheard of that Rush wasn’t used to being touched.

It made Young’s heart ache, and he wasn’t sure why, nor was he entirely comfortable with the feeling.  He pulled his hand away without further comment and exited the room.

XXXXX

_Stargate Command_

 

A stream of musical (if angry) Czech spilled from the doorway where Vala stood.  It amused her—she didn’t quite understand it (not yet, anyway), but the words were endlessly intriguing, as all languages were, really.  It was a shame more people didn’t get that.

She perked up when Dr. Zelenka exited the room with a ruddy complexion and his fists tight.  “Dr. Z, I just need a mome—“ She was cut off by Zelenka unceremoniously telling her something in Czech that was clearly an insult (she may not have understood the specific verbiage, but she could tell by the inflection) before stalking away.

Clutching her spiral-bound notebook (bright purple with glitter paint, naturally; a girl needed pizzazz, didn’t she?), she entered the lab cautiously.  It was only Daniel and Dr. Lee—the former looked somehow exasperated yet patient; the latter was frazzled and unhappy.

“So…am I interrupting then?” Vala asked brightly, her fingers tightening over the edge of the book she carried against her chest.

Daniel waved her in; he knew on some level that if he didn’t allow her entrance, she would simply come in anyway with all the justifications in the world as to why.  “What do you need?” he asked, settling onto a stool with a heavy sigh.

Dr. Lee stood from where he sat.  “Coffee,” he muttered anxiously and sped out of the room.

Vala turned her cheerful smile to him.  “So, I have something interesting to add to Dr. McKay’s notes on that transmission that’s about Destiny.”

He hated wasting good coffee, but Daniel spit what was in his mouth all over the lab table where he was seated.  “We didn’t give you anything to do with that; why do you have _anything_?”

Vala shrugged innocently.  “I saw what you were working on last week, honestly, and this was the most interesting thing I’d seen in _months_.  We haven’t been anywhere in forever; it’s like they’ve grounded our team just because we’re liaising with Atlantis half the time.”  She glanced at him in such a way that made Daniel squirm slightly.

“Well, there’s a lot of information to be obtained from the city of the Ancients,” Daniel pointed out steadily.  He hated that Vala made him feel off-balance most of the time.  “And why were you looking at what I was working on?”

Vala dramatically sat beside of him.  “Because they’re not giving me anything _else_ to do.”  She slapped her notebook down on the table.  “And…” she trailed in an excited voice.  “I saw a _pattern_.”

Daniel sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses up at the same time.  “Of course you did.”  He threw his pencil down on the surface in front of him and turned.  “So what did you figure out?”

“Oh, these cheeky buggers,” she said conspiratorially.  “They hide their information well.  At the very least, this transmission was done by the best.  Who is this from anyway?”

Daniel snatched her notebook, only to have it tugged back and away in a violent fashion.  “What did it say?” he asked evasively.

Vala looked sketchy at this point, more so than usual.  She sniffed delicately in offense.  “So it’s important?”

With great reluctance, Daniel settled back onto his chair.  “Yes, it’s very important.  So far as I can tell, it’s a heavily coded Wraith transmission to a Destiny-like ship far outside of our local group.  It means that someone might know about Destiny, and that we need to fix the communication stones ASAP.”

Her smile was far too wide for Daniel to be comfortable.  “So it’s _Wraith_!  Gosh, it would have been _so_ much easier if I had known that!”

Daniel groaned inwardly.  “How so?”

Vala leaned toward him shiftily.  “Because I’ve read all of the Wraith information that the SGC will let me, and that’s pretty much all of it.  I can crack this, knowing that it’s Wraith.”

“Dr. Lee!  Dr. Zelenka!” Daniel shouted as he looked reluctantly at the still charred pieces of communication stones on the lab table.

He wished Sam were here.  It was a dark twinge in his chest, one that had never fully gone away, but had only intensified when Jack had left too.

Vala smiled at him again, chittering about the translations and the ciphers of the Wraith message sent to Todd.

Daniel tried not to think too hard about him.

XXXXX

_George Hammond_

 

Sam liked to compartmentalize; it was easier that way.  She scanned the readouts, quickly, one by one, and determined with a stark efficiency which were more important.  There was a missive from Daniel though, and Jack too, that was too imperative for her to ignore.  If she didn’t read it now, it would mean distraction, and while they weren’t in dangerous territory, necessarily, she simply didn’t want her focus to waver.

With a quiet order, she left the bridge to Major Hayes and retreated to her private office before reading through it.  The readings from earlier now readjusted, shifted, and formed into a more prioritized list.  Sam leaned back in her chair, her mind already reorganizing to make up for the new information.  It certainly wouldn’t be easy, but if Daniel’s message was anything to go by, it was most definitely worth it.  If Jack’s message was anything to go by, it was direly required.

Sam straightened in her chair, moving the decisions and her command orders around as she did so.  Really, when it came down to it, they ( _Daniel and Jack_ ) needed to know if the crew aboard Destiny were still alive, and, if so, was there really a Wraith-version of Destiny in their vicinity.  Secondary was fixing the stones, which, in Sam’s mind, should be priority since it would solve at least half of the first problem.

That meant the readings they had taken earlier from the planet both Jack and Daniel were asking about had to be budged as well; there were various readings that had indicated the Ancients had once been present, at least, technologically.  The need for affirmation of these reasons was tantamount.

Sam cleared her throat, preparing already to go back to a planet that had the best chance of having communication stones.  While her orders were fairly open, she knew that going back in their travels would raise an eye at SGC.

No doubt, however, that Jack and Daniel would have her back.

Sam entered the bridge, nodding her respect to Hayes as he vacated the command seat.  “Set a course for PX3-341.  There’s something useful there that we need to bring back to the SGC.”

The crew murmured quietly around her; she could hear the dissonance of confusion.  Still, they blindly obeyed, trusting her command.

Sam leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the back of it and closing her eyes as the _George Hammond_ went into hyperspace.  It was almost like Atlantis, where her command had been more or less absolute, and if not that, then flexible in a way she could work with.  It was almost like being a member of SG-1, where she trusted her team in a way she had rarely trusted anyone since leaving them.

It was almost like _home_ , but not quite.  It made her heart ache, even as the ship’s engines rumbled and comforted her.  She wasn’t sure why.

XXXXX

_Atlantis_

 

John was hungover as fuck when the tinkling chime on his door came.  Being that it was his day off, he ignored the Atlantis-version of a doorbell in his room, only shooting a beleaguered middle finger toward the entrance.  He burrowed deeper into his blankets.  It wasn’t often that he asked for a day off, or even took personal time, but he had planned for this, with months to spare in advance.

Rodney’s words still rang hollowly in his ears— _I think they know about Destiny._

It still made a hard pit in his stomach.  There were good men and women aboard Destiny.  Young was one of the best, if a little too attached to the ex-wife.

John knew better from his own life to stay unattached.

The chiming didn’t stop, and then the knocking started.

“Fuck _off_ ,” John yelled emphatically, and dug back into his pillows, not caring one shit about professionalism.

He wasn’t expecting someone to bypass Atlantis all together, and there was only one person who knew the systems well enough to get past his command codes.

Rodney yanked the blanket down.  “For fuck’s sake, I wouldn’t be bothering you if it weren’t _important_ ; could you please at least _pretend_ give a shit?”

John sat up, hair sticking in all sorts of directions.  “Fucking _Christ_ , Rodney; what the _fuck_ do you want?”

Rodney did shrink back a little at the vicious tone, his skin greasy with lack of sleep and shadows under his eyes.  He looked hurt and _small_ , and John hated the latter of the feeling.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face and hating the alcohol-sweat that came away on his fingers.  “Sorry; I was sleeping pretty hard,” he mumbled in way of an apology.

Rodney sat down at the foot of his bed, his hip nudging against John’s foot.  “Sam found a set of communication stones.  They made contact with Destiny.”

John sat up a little straighter as he rubbed his eyes.  He hoped his gaze was a bit softer when he stared at Rodney.  “And?” he asked quietly, because he wasn’t sure of what the IOA was or wasn’t listening to.

Rodney seemed to have the same concern and moved up the bed a little, adjusting until his mouth was so close that John could feel warm breath on his ear.

“Vala translated it; Daniel had Mitchell e-mail it to me,” Rodney whispered even as his hands twitched for better positioning.  It went on until one hand landed on John’s hip and the other on the nightstand beside of the bed.  “The Wraith are there.”

John sucked in a breath, and drank it in that Rodney’s skin pimpled up in goosebumps.  “So we try to get to them?” he asked in the same whispered tone, raising a hand to Rodney’s shoulder.

Rodney huffed against his ear.  “So this is how we play it?”  There was a certain degree of cynicism in his tone as his whole body shifted.  John couldn’t tell if it was in an uncomfortable way or not.

“We have to,” John replied (more breathlessly than he would have liked, because Rodney’s clever fingers were clamped on his hip and the one on the nightstand had drifted to his shoulder; it was a brand beneath his shirt).  “What else did you get?”

Humid breath against his ear again, narrow fingers clamping down on his hip and shoulder.  “Best I can figure is we can take Atlantis, risk the wormhole drive—that’s what the rumors I hear are anyway, of what the IOA _wants_ us to do—until we find Destiny.”

John moved until his arms were draped about Rodney’s shoulders, angling his head to Rodney’s ear.  “What do you think?”

Rodney’s fingers twitched.  “I think we need to find them.  Without that…” He sighed—hot, damp air washed over John’s neck.  “Then yeah, I agree a little with the IOA; we should find Destiny.  The Wraith have found them; we know more about the Wraith than anyone.”

Still hungover and more than a little tired, John anchored down into the weight of Rodney’s body, taking in the warmth and gravity of the person in front of him.

Maybe it was imagined, but John thought that Rodney’s hands tightened over his skin.  A thumb was under his shirt, stroking over a hip.

“What do _you_ think?” Rodney asked pointedly, digging his thumb into John’s shoulder.

John opened his eyes, dilated and maybe still a little drunk, not to mention unable to hold much of any conversation.  Rodney didn’t seem to realize that.  “Can you just kiss me already?” he muttered plaintively, and regretted it the minute the words escaped his lips.  He squeezed his eyes shut against the humiliation of the question.

Rodney looked as if he were solving a complex equation, something beyond John’s aeronautics training with the Air Force.  He looked like a sculpture, in a way.  His mouth was slanted down again, wide lips drawn into a thoughtful frown, but the calculation was definitely there behind the shifting blue of his eyes.  His hair looked as soft as always, flying away from the skin as if it understood Rodney’s desire to break free.

John swallowed restlessly, feeling like the action itself moved down his throat in a salacious way that he wasn’t entire aware of.  It made him feel tense and uneasy; his hands moved edgily.

Rodney tilted his head inquiringly.  “Do you want me to?”  He cleared his throat as he licked his lips and his fingers anxiously searched for a hold over John’s hip.  Impatience seemed to win over though, and he asked, “To kiss you?”

John really just wanted a damn bottle of water.  But Rodney was looking at him in a searching way, in a fashion that he normally reserved for interesting equations or new pieces of Ancient tech.  He leaned back into his pillow, pulling Rodney with him.  His breath came quicker than he would have wanted; he was being _weak_.

A soldier must never be _weak_.

He was a soldier, first and foremost.

John sat up a little as sobriety crept in, and he let the façade of Colonel Sheppard take him over.  “I think we should see what Carter’s found and go from there.”  His fingers gave into the desire; they traced the tips of Rodney’s hair.

Rodney was still looking at him like a puzzle, and John wasn’t sure if he wanted it solved.  He looked thoughtful again for a moment, and then shifted away.  “We can’t do this, not… _like this_ , not frequently.”  It was code, and half-asleep, John had little chance of breaking it completely.  He still understood—who knew what the IOA was listening to?  As long as they could hide it behind an early morning tryst of some kind, then they could keep their plans secure.

John was out of his element so far as how to reply.  “So long as we serve the greater good,” he finally went with, “We can only do what’s allowed.”  He hoped Rodney got it.

Rodney nodded at him with understanding and his cheeks were flushed; John imagined that it was aroused.  “I would have, you know,” he said arrogantly, stopping before the closed door of his John’s quarters.

John shrugged against his pillow.  “Would have what?”

Defiantly, Rodney glared at him.  “I would have kissed you.”  He crossed him arms protectively, fingers wrapping over ribs that John itched to map.  “But only if you had asked.”

John swallowed again, leaning his head on the pillow.  He couldn’t tell if this was an act or not; Rodney looked so fucking sure, so _sincere_ …

“Next time,” John murmured quietly, still stuck between hungover and drunk, “Do it.  I asked you once; don’t make me ask you twice.”

Rodney froze at the door, a hand on the controls and his head bent down.  His shoulders dropped before rising.  “Loud and clear,” he responded, and John definitely understood _that_.

John heard the swoosh of the doors shutting and lay back on his pillow.  His heart was beating in a jamming sort of thud within his throat, and his kidneys felt like they were in his stomach to still process whatever he had drank the night before.  He didn’t know what to think.

Still a bit drunk, still exhausted in more ways than one, John tugged the second pillow to his chest and wrapped an arm around it.  This way, he could pretend that someone had stayed, had pressed wide-mouthed kisses along his neck and chest, had wrapped a knowing hand around the bulge in his sweatpants—

Ultimately, though, he was alone.  The isolation hurt more than anything, and, when he fell back asleep, John could feel the ghostly tips of fingers on his hip.  It made him turn over in slumber, mostly because there wasn’t much he could do about it, and while McKay had seemed open to the idea, he couldn’t confirm that the man wanted him.

If nothing else, McKay had seemed more curious than anything.

Here, now, without McKay’s body on him and pinning him down, John hurt.  He _ached_.  He hadn’t known what he was missing until he couldn’t have it anymore.  Everything felt slighter, felt skinnier, felt _broken_.

John sighed against his pillow and drove the feelings down.  Everything _hurt_ , and he didn’t want to look too closely as to why.

XXXXXXXXXX

**Author's Note:**

> So, I have a vague idea of where this is going, believe it or not. A lot of things got introduced here, but I promise the relationship tags are definitely going to happen, and that all three Stargate series will be involved.
> 
> On a side-note, it's been a long time since I've updated much of anything. The reason for this is because my laptop was stolen a couple of weeks ago when my home was broken into. This is the first fic that I've written on the new laptop, and posting this has given me, in some way or another, the feeling of getting my stuff back (that was pretty worthless to begin with), even if I didn't really get anything back.
> 
> Okay, enough personal stuff. Hope you enjoyed or were intrigued. As always, dear readers, reviews/comments are everything!


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